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It breaks my heart to hear the heartache in her voice. I’ve never blamed my parents for not listening to me when I was a kid, but they both feel guilty, especially Mom. She knows how close Aislin and I were and how much I loved her.
“Stop,” I tell her firmly while still keeping my tone respectful. “I’ve already told you that I don’t blame you and Dad. You did what you thought was right at the time.”
“I know, but if we had listened to you, maybe we could have saved her. That poor girl.” Her voice cracks.
My eyes land on the brown folder on the coffee table in front of me that holds every piece of information I have on Aislin’s case. It’s not very thick as there wasn’t much to go on when she was first taken. It’s still undecided if she ran away first and then was caught or if she was taken from the beginning. I know she was taken the first day. She wouldn’t have just up and left like that. She wouldn’t have done that to me.
I rub the spot over my heart harder as the ache gets stronger. There are so many what-ifs.
“There’s no way to know that for sure, Mom. The police were adamant she ran away, and unless there was evidence to suggest otherwise, I doubt they would have changed their tune, even if you and Dad had asked them to.”
“I know. I just wish…”
“Well, don’t.” My tone comes out harsher than I intended. I hear her sniffle over the phone, and I feel like a piece of shit. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Don’t be. I know this is hard on you.”
“Look, I need to go. I still have a ton of unpacking to do.”
I hate to rush off the phone with her, but it always hurts when she brings up Aislin.
“Okay, sweetie. Call me if you need me or your dad. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I toss my phone on the table in front of me and watch it clatter across the surface. Resting my elbows on my knees, I rub my hands down my face. A pinch of pain starts in my temples, and I know a migraine is on its way.
Getting up from the couch, I head to the bathroom and the bottle of Tylenol I have stashed in the medicine cabinet. After downing two, I wash my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look tired as fuck with my eyes sunk in and my face pale. The scruff on my face is several days’ old and past time to be scraped off. My dark brown hair isn’t much better. It looks like I haven’t brushed it in days, which would be correct.
Before I know what I’m doing, my fist connects with the glass, and I watch as it shatters. Pieces fall into the sink, the smaller ones clinking as they drop down the drain.
I fucking hate looking at myself because all I ever see is failure. I was the one person who promised to keep her safe, and I failed her. I failed her in the worse possible way. Because of me, she was tortured so badly not an inch of her body was left untouched. It should have been me on that table, nearly unrecognizable.
Gripping the edge of the sink, I look down and see my busted knuckles. Shards of glass stick out of my skin with blood dripping down onto the white porcelain. My eyes latch onto one piece of glass imbedded between my knuckles. I flex my fingers, and the pain barely registers. No amount of pain could make up for what Aislin went through.
I deserve so much more.
There’s also no amount of pain I won’t give to the bastard who took her. Only time stands between me and him. And it’s fucking ticking down.
